


true love never has to hide

by buries



Category: DC Extended Universe, DCU, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 20:46:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: a man who can't even cross no man's land is offering her one of his shirts.or the one where steve and diana finally lower their armour.





	true love never has to hide

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for hiraeth-doux @ tumblr for wondertrev's secret santa. i used the prompts of angst and being in love, and ended up coming up with this. it's set during their time in veld, auing it slightly so that they're spending more than a day in the town. this can take place after their night together scene or replace it entirely.
> 
> i hope you had a great holiday and i hope you enjoy this!
> 
> unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. title is from beyonce's _all night_. thanks for reading! ♥

"Aren't you tired of wearing your armour?"

He doesn't mean to ask it. It'd been a simple thought that was meant to remain as that — a thought. Looking her over, he notices how she hugs the long coat against her, tucking it beneath her chin much like a child would. She hadn't stepped inside of the pub to glide up the stairs to the rooms they were given for the night to change into something warmer. 

His thick fur coat doesn't feel like much of a shield from the cold. With the threads tightly knotted together, flakes of snow still infiltrate between them, shoving their fingers where they don't belong to kiss his skin chilly. 

Studying her from the bench they sit on, he tries to spy something thick and warm on her person. It's difficult to find anything on her under her armour and coat. Had she changed when he wasn't looking? It wasn't possible. He'd been watching her since she'd taken off from the trenches, deflecting bullet after bullet until she'd soared across No Man's Land into German territory.

Or what was German territory. She'd claimed it back with a simple defiant upward tilt of her head.

When he looks at her again, his cheeks flushed with red hot embarrassment, he finds her smiling at him. He isn't so sure if it's a confused kind of smile. It's simply lovely, pulling at his gut like butterflies actually have sharp, strong teeth.

She laughs lightly. "No," she says, shaking her head. "I have nothing to change into."

"You can wear something of mine," he says. Closing his eyes, he shakes his head. "Sorry," he says, unsure of what he's apologising for. His clothes are back in London, in a chest of drawers looked after by Etta. He's certain she's rifled through all of his belongings by now. "I meant the clothes that I was given. I have a few shirts to spare."

Diana studies him, her lips curved upward softly. She must find him amusing. A man who can't even cross No Man's Land is offering her one of his shirts.

"I'd like that," she says with a decisive, small nod. She stands immediately, wrapping the coat tightly around her.

"Now?" he stammers. Standing quickly, not quite as elegantly as her, he looks at her then at the pub, ignoring the civilians around them as they walk around their quiet and saved town. "Okay," he says, fumbling with his hands together. "Let's go now."

He walks off, first stumbling on the snow. Diana follows him, a step behind, until they reach the pub. Reaching back for her hand, he curls his fingers into the spaces of her own, shivering at how the warmth of her hand burns away the chill of his own. 

Was she warm before? In London when she'd taken his hand, he hadn't thought much of it, other than the fear of it being misconstrued as something else. Something that he wants it to be right now.

She presses against him as most of the people of Veld huddle in the warm pub, body heat spiking the temperature inside just a little higher. Steve tips his hat downward when he spots Charlie, then looks away quickly, not wanting his friend to read anything into his red cheeks. He doesn't look at Diana, feeling her hand firmly in his, her grip never once wavering.

Once he reaches the stairs, he stops to let her go first. Diana merely looks at him, brows raised ever so slightly. "Right," he says, feeling his limbs spasm. Old courteous habits borne of a society that has no idea of the power of woman die hard, he supposes.

Steve ascends them, leading her up to the second floor with her hot on his heels. Before he can reach his room, Diana's hand is tight within his. She stops him. "Steve," she says quietly, a light laugh to her voice. "Relax. Breathe. It's okay."

His brows rise in forced surprise. "What? I'm fine." Pressing his lips together, he shakes his head, as if to play off her concern. "I'm just ... Cold."

Diana smiles at him. It's a pitiful smile, but it's beautiful all the same. It thaws his nerves within seconds. Lifting her hand, she touches his cheek gently. Her fingertips are as cold as the snow, but her palms are as warm as the sun in Themyscira. "Steve," she says gently again. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

He frowns. "No," he says instantly. "No. I'd never think that. I don't think that."

Diana looks down, a second of vulnerability exposed. Steve places his hand on hers, drawing her gaze back up to his. "Diana," he says firmly, wanting her to hear how strong his voice is around the syllables of her name. "I'm not afraid of you. I've never been afraid of you."

"Then why are you acting so skittish?" Her brows furrow together. "It's like you're a foal unable to walk."

"That's ... not how I'd describe it," he says to himself. Diana merely purses her lips. "I can walk. I'm a grown horse. And I can't believe I just said that." Steve shakes his head. "You just make me ..."

Diana looks at him unblinkingly, holding her breath for the word. How can someone like him be so important to her already? He's done nothing but push her away, telling her no when he should've been saying yes.

Looking down, he mutters, "Nervous."

She lets out a warm chuckle. When he looks up at her with a frown, she's covering her mouth with her hand. "What?" he says a little sharply. "How is that funny?'

Diana shakes her head, clearing her throat. "It's not," she says, although the upward curve to her lips says otherwise. "It's not, Steve. Trust me. You make me nervous, too."

Did he hear her correctly? He, Steve Trevor, makes Diana of the Amazons nervous?

"I make you nervous?" He can feel himself puffing out his chest and immediately stops himself. "I don't want to make you feel nervous."

"It's a good kind of nervous," she says. She reaches out to grip the lapels of his coat, effectively stopping his heart for a good second. Pressing her palm flat against his chest, she looks down at his coat. She pushes it away with her hand, placing it on his vest. "Do you feel that?"

Steve looks down at her hand, then at her. "Your hand?"

Diana shakes her head. She takes his hand and places it on her chest. She has to press his palm within the fold of her coat and against her sternum in an effort to keep his hand from fluttering away. Another societal rule, broken. Once he calms down, he can feel her heart hammering through her chest.

Her skin is warm. The bottom of his palm briefly touches the armour. It's cold to his touch, but her skin is like warm hearth.

"You're nervous," he concludes, a smile slowly forming across his lips. 

Diana looks up at him. "I'm not afraid of you, either," she says softly. Her hand lingers on his chest before she lets it fall away, much like the snow had from the sky. He follows suit, taking his hand back awkwardly.

"If I was, I wouldn't ask you to help me," she says. Her cheeks seem a little flushed, but he writes that off to it being cold. Upstairs, the warmth of the people's good spirits is cooler. The noise downstairs thins out into a murmur. It's just them, like it'd been in the cave, like it'd been on the boat. Like it should be right now.

Diana walks past him and lets herself into his room. He follows her.

Closing the door behind him, he watches her as she sheds her thick coat. Although he already knows what it'd been covering, he still feels his breath catch in his throat. Underneath is her armour, boldly coloured and bright, even in the dimmest of lights. When she stands before him, hair curled and falling against her back, a knife lodges itself in his chest, making it difficult for him to breathe without appearing like there's something wrong with him.

This is power. This is god. This is exactly what he's been fighting for.

Once he manages to swallow thickly, shifting that knife in his throat to sit a little lower in his chest, he relaxes his hands. He hadn't realised he'd been trying to tear off his fingers.

"I'm tired of wearing my armour, Steve," she says.

Although his mouth feels dry, his entire body calms into a quiet, familiar confidence. Shoulders back, heart quickening in its pace, his fingers peel off the arms of his own coat. "So am I."


End file.
